What Remains
by thatfantasyworldofmine
Summary: Written for 2013 Secret Santa Fic Exchange on tumblr, the Doctor finds out just how much Rose truly remembers of Bad Wolf.


There are flashes; images flicking past her vision so fast they can't possibly be natural or of her own consciousness. There is no way her imagination could ever dream up some of the scenarios she sees. A beast, a huge beat in a fiery pit; herself, on a blue tinted TV screen with just a face, no head; the Doctor, lying on the floor of the TARDIS and Jack, Captain Jack – _but Jack's dead_ – pulling her away as the Doctor becomes bathed in the yellow light she's only ever seen once before on the worst day of her life. So many scenes, so many people, how can it be possible? Or real?

They become worse. Her mum, cybercised, upgraded – _what the hell are those things?_ – and Mickey, Mickey was gone, he left her. He left her too, on a beach, alone, twice. No, alone once, faded forever then back and gone again, but he remained as well. _What is happening to me?_ There's two of him, and then there's three as well; they've all different faces but they're all him. But she's not herself, she's just her face, nothing more, and there's a brown haired girl too; the right Doctor can't see her and the wrong one can, he's too old but too young as well. _Someone, please, get me out of here…_

Her head hurts and Rose knows now that she's dreaming, or is she remembering? But it hurts; the pounding of blood in her skull and ears is deafening, she wants to scream but she can't, the cone of light imprisons her from him and so does the big white wall, relentless and solid under her pounding fists.

There's a break; something inside her snaps and now she's crying, wishing he was here, the Doctor, _her_ Doctor; she needs him and he's always there for her _so where is he?_

"Doctor, come back!" she screams, palms on the wall, falling to her knees in the sand, tears blurring her vision and the salt stinging. He's left her. "Take me back, Doctor, take me back!" She's sobbing now, scared, captive by whatever she is experiencing, held tight in its merciless grip; its fingers clench her chest and her wrists, shaking her, pinning her down. The last of her strength is waning but she still cries, calling for her Doctor but he's not coming, why not?

_"Rose…"_ It's his voice but his body isn't here and she sits up in an unfamiliar bed; it's not real, she's still stuck. _"Bad Wolf Bay…"_ More images flick past, too fast now and she sinks to her knees in terror, hands clutching her head and curling in on herself, waiting for the horror of the future and everything that could, that can, that will happen to cease.

"Rose!"

"Let me go, let me sleep," she sobs, rocking back and forth, back and forth. If she can't control anything else in this waking nightmare, she can control this. A steady rhythm, back and forth like the metronome that sits atop the rosewood grand piano he so loves to play when she's asleep.

"Rose," the Doctor says again, relief flooding through him at finally finding his companion, curled up in the corner of a long-forgotten room in the depths of his ship. He crouches next to her, hands gently grasping her shoulders as he scans for any sign of injury.

"You're not real, you're not here, Doctor, please find me, please…" Rose cries, flinching away from his grip on her shoulders. "Get away, leave me alone!"

_"Rose,"_ the Doctor says for the umpteenth time, smoothing her hair, patiently waiting for her to calm down. "It's me, it's the Doctor. I am not leaving you."

But she is beyond comprehension now, unable to understand anything except she's alone and she's scared, the Doctor's gone. Rose loses her balance, slumps sideways off her knees and lies on the floor, still sobbing silently, unconscious and yet, conscious.

The Doctor shakes his head. Humans and their funny little brains, he muses, sitting next to Rose and gently guiding her head and shoulders into his lap. He covers her hands and slowly uncurls them from their clenched position in her hair, finger by finger, then holds them in his own until they stop shaking. Her fingers unconsciously cling to his as tears drip from her cheeks, soaking into the pinstripes. The Doctor hooks his arm beneath the crook of her knees and around her torso, then pulls her fully into his lap like a child so her head rests just below his chin; her sobs have faded to sniffles now so he concentrates on that rather than the feeling of absolute dread swirling in his stomach.

These nightmares of hers get worse with each passing night. He knows that in each dream, in each wave of tears she is seeing the timelines; she is remembering all she had experienced as Bad Wolf. While they pose no physical threat, the emotional turmoil his precious Rose Tyler has been repeatedly enduring each night has become too much for him to bear.

"Let me in, Rose," he murmurs, kissing her temple before diving deep into her mind, into her soft and tired soul. The Doctor searches; any trace of future, unwanted visions, even reminders of the past, he draws them out and extinguishes them using the mental equivalent of crushing a tin can beneath a heavy boot. The process takes an hour or two and his hands grow numb; usually he could be done within half an hour, but this was Rose. There would be no rushing with her mind.

As the Doctor finally extracts himself he finds that Rose has fallen silent and still, and has slumped downwards across his stretched-out legs. His hearts drop for the split second he can't hear hers, and then it beats, she breathes, and he can breathe again too.

"I'll find a way to change it," he promises in a whisper; she hears nothing, deeply asleep as she would be for the next twelve hours or so. Her mind has to recover from the mental exfoliation it just received, but he feels sound in his actions. "Come on, to bed with you," he murmurs, getting first to his feet and then, ever so gently, picking her up in his arms and holding her close.

He slowly carries her the half kilometer she somehow managed to venture in her distressed wakeful sleep, back to her bedroom, thankful to the TARDIS for the time he has with her clutched close to his chest.

He lays her down, picks the thick duvet off the floor and tuck it around her limp form, pressing a kiss to her clammy forehead before kicking off his trainers and sliding in beside her. He'll just lie here and watch her sleep, he doesn't mind. Now that he knows what she has seen and what's coming (even though he's going to change it – he will), he won't miss a second with Rose. Even without all the horrors he just extracted from her subconscious, human lives are so short. Unfairly so.

"I'm right here with you, Rose Tyler," he whispers; her full name sparks a memory. No, not a memory. Something to come. Something unfinished. "Rose Tyler," he says experimentally. He can hear her tear-filled words that she hasn't yet said. He can't leave it there.

He leans close, nestles his nose in her hair, and whispers the words he knows he won't get time to say (unless he changes it, which he will): _"I love you."_


End file.
